


Hues of the Heart

by prairiecrow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Clothing Kink, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truly, the clothes make the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hues of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place just after "The Wire".

For as long as he could remember, Julian Bashir had loved brilliant colors: the more dramatic the hue, the more intense the saturation, the more it drew his eye and the more it made him feel uplifted. His mother had picked up on this early and had adorned his childhood bedroom in a riot of purple and red and green and blue, a situation that had made him as happy as the beautiful bright clothes she let him wear every day both in and out of the house.

As he got older, of course, things had to be toned down, but he'd still tended to dress with more flash than his contemporaries even though the teenaged compulsion to "fit in" forced him to abandon the primary palette of his earlier years. He'd learned to appreciate a wider range of visual choices, deepening the shade of the colors he wore while maintaining a high chromatic value beneath the dark tones. By the time he'd reached Starfleet (which limited his on-duty choices to black and medical blue), he'd taken to wearing highly saturated oranges and purples as a matter of course; it was, he felt, a dramatic combination well-suited to the darker desert tones of his skin and the hazel gleam of his eyes.

But then he'd started associating with Garak, and one look at the expression on the Cardassian tailor's face when they'd happened to meet on the Promenade during Julian's off-duty hours — polite but deeply pained — had alerted him that as far as this particular specialist in fashion was concerned, his choice of style left a great deal to be desired.

Julian didn't pay much attention at first — after all, how seriously could he take the opinion of a man who'd introduced himself attired uncommonly like a watermelon? — but as time went on and Garak kept slipping in not-so-subtle digs concerning the "disasters" Julian chose to wear in public, indifference had become irritation, and irritation had become annoyance, and annoyance had finally become "Fine, if you think you can do that much better…!" And so one morning Julian had found himself in a changing room in Garak's shop, turning this way and that to critically examine himself in the floor to ceiling mirror… and admitting that the suit Garak had put together for him in ivory linen and navy blue silk was actually so flattering to his figure that the lack of blazing color wasn't a handicap.

Garak's smile had been radiant, and from that moment on he'd been Julian's go-to source for new clothes, all decisions about color and cut left in his capable hands. And although Julian occasionally mourned the days when he'd gone around tricked out like a peacock, displaying bright colors to attract the gaze of the fairer sex, he had to admit that Garak's less flashy creations, so perfectly calculated to showcase his slender build, seemed to work just as well when it came to winning his way into the hearts of his amorous targets. In the course of a year he commissioned four new suits from the highly talented spy, one of which had just been ordered when Garak's health took an unfortunate — and nearly fatal — turn for the worse.

The dramatic events that transpired in dealing with the malfunctioning Obsidian Order implant drove the matter of the commission from Julian's mind: he was actually surprised when, over lunch a couple of weeks after the incident, Garak announced that his new suit was ready to be fitted. That very afternoon Julian presented himself at the shop immediately after his shift was over, to be ushered into his usual changing room where a suit hung ready for him to try on. 

One look at it took his breath away and set his heart to pounding traitorously, because it instantly awakened the child in him who had once shamelessly delighted in all that was beautiful and bright. He also found the complexity of it baffling, but when he turned quickly to say something he found that Garak had already closed the curtains and left him to his own devices. There was nothing for it but to strip down to his briefs and put the suit on… or try to. In the end the numerous lengths of silk apparently intended to secure the pants around his waist defeated him, and he was just opening his mouth to call for assistance when Garak appeared, lips curved as enigmatically as those of any Sphinx, to provide it. 

"Close your eyes, Doctor," he instructed briskly, and Julian obeyed, raising his arms a little so that Garak had room to deftly manipulate the strips of fabric, interweaving them one over the other and sliding their ends into a series of delicate buckles at the small of Julian's back.

A minute or so of silent work completed the task, and once Julian had shrugged into the accompanying jacket all he could do was stare at himself, turning in place to admire the overall effect. The entire ensemble was crafted of fine velvet and rich silk, and everywhere it touched was like a caress bestowed on his unsuspecting (and thrilled) skin. The straps that bound the pants in place felt like a serpent's embrace, running across his hips in a way that clearly framed his groin, their bondage daringly revealed by the high cut of the bolero jacket which also showcased the trim curves of his buttocks. The tightness of the pants in front also left very little to the imagination, including the fact that Julian was beginning to stir within their confines.

And the colors… fiery orange and royal purple patterned the panels of the suit's construction, playfully finished with trimmings of sunfire yellow and emerald green, all colors echoed in the complicated sequence of strips that enclosed his waist and hips. Only the crisp white shirt beneath remained as a nod to Garak's usual aesthetic. It was gaudy, it was gloriously extravagant, it was exquisitely made — and it was so unabashedly sexual and sensual that for several moments Julian's mouth went dry and he found himself completely unable to speak.

At last he raised his eyes to Garak's face reflected in the mirror, smiling at him triumphantly over his shoulder. "It's, ah…" He barely resisted the temptation to lick his lips. "It's absolutely gorgeous."

"I'm so pleased that you like it. I know it's a little outside the parameters we've established for you thus far, but —" His smile didn't change, not objectively, but the vibration from it was now as predatory as the rustle of a panther's passage through tall grass. "I thought you deserved a suitable reward for your kindness and your bravery on my behalf."

"Um." Every centimere of Julian's skin seemed to be humming with electricity all of a sudden. He looked again at the strips of cloth confining him so deliciously, turning in place to survey once more the way his ass and his groin (and his lengthening cock in particular) were prominently displayed. "Believe me, I appreciate it. But… well, two things."

"Oh?"

He turned to face himself fully again in the mirror. "It doesn't look like something that's designed to be worn on the Promenade, and how on Earth am I supposed to take it off?"

Garak's hands came to rest on his hips, lightly but with a clear aura of possession. "This is intended for private display only," he purred against the back of Julian's neck, "and never fear, my friend: I'll take full responsibility for getting you both into and out of it. You have my word."

What was most surprising, really, was how remarkably unsurprised Julian was. As Garak moved fully up against him and began to thoroughly check every detail of the suit's fit from his throat to his thighs, he found that he simply couldn't stop smiling at the sheer beauty of everything his eyes beheld.

THE END


End file.
